Trick or . . .
by Dala1
Summary: Halloween in the X-Mansion. Light-hearted L/R fic.


Disclaimer: I will trade Marvel candy for characters. But until then, all of it belongs to them.   
Author's Note: Sugar-induced piece of fluff. Enjoy :)   
  
  
  
Cowboy costume. Bratty little kids on a sugar high. The Prof in a black and red jumpsuit. What the hell is going on?   
  
It seemed like such a . . . well, not a good idea, but not a disastrous one either. As far as holidays go, Halloween ain't one I hate. It's the gift-giving, touchy-feely celebrations that really get under my skin. Halloween usually brought a free round of drinks in whatever bar I was frequenting that year, and it didn't leave a man feeling pathetic to be sitting by himself like Christmas or Valentine's Day. And women used it as an opportunity to show some skin. Yeah, I've had some pretty decent Halloweens.   
  
So when Xavier said he was hosting a Halloween party for charity -- us being the charity -- I thought hey, I can stick around for that. I got a little uneasy when he told us costumes were mandatory, but Marie was so excited that I didn't have the heart to grouse.   
  
"I love Halloween!" she said, bouncing in her seat. It did all kinds of interesting things to her anatomy, which I'd only just begun to label interesting. And that's so many levels of wrong, it gave me a headache.   
  
"'S not bad," I said, grabbing a slice of bread. Mornings were the quietest times in the mansion, most of the kids not up yet. We'd come back from an early training session in the gym. Kid was really starting to get the hang of hand-to-hand. I was considering letting her beat me once, give her a sense of pride, you know? But then I thought about what it would do to *my* pride, and decided to sic her on Summers instead.   
  
Speak of the devil, he and Jean and 'Ro waltzed in.   
  
"Morning," Marie sang out. I grunted. This is our way.   
  
Jean sank into a chair and grabbed two of the bagels Marie had set out. You wouldn't know it to look, but between the two of them, those girls can put away a shitload of food. It's pretty impressive, really.   
  
"So what is everyone going as?" she asked, slathering cream cheese on her bagel.   
  
"I still don't see why we can't just use the uniforms," I muttered.   
  
Marie poked my arm. "This is a school to all outward appearances, Logan, you know that. Professor Xavier doesn't wanna alarm his benefactors with our extracurricular activities."   
  
I knew that. But somehow it sounded better when she said it. I guess listening to her study out loud all the time has made me appreciate her voice. She'll be done with her master's in   
English in the spring. Weird, how it hasn't felt like so long.   
  
"Well, I think I still have my Cleopatra costume somewhere," 'Ro put in. I'd never seen it, but I was willing to bet she'd be a knockout. "Are you two going to match?" She waved her forkful of cantaloupe toward Scott and Jean. I managed to hold back a snort. Talk about your pussy-whipping.   
  
Jeannie nodded. "We haven't decided what, though. How about you, Logan?"   
  
Marie leaned back in her chair and studied me intently. This gave me an opportunity to stare back at her. Her hair was still damp from the post-combat shower, I noted -- and then wondered why I'd noted it.   
  
"Cowboy," she said decisively.   
  
I blinked. "Horses hate me. So do cows, for that matter."   
  
Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "You don't have to cart an actual farm animal around with you, Logan."   
  
The others were beginning to warm to the idea, the fuckers. "A cowboy's all about the attitude, you know," Jeannie said.   
  
"I'm not even an American," I protested weakly. This was a losing battle and I knew it. There were worse things than cowboys, after all, like--   
  
"You could go as a Canadian mountie instead," Scooter said, his face deadpan. Marie choked on her orange juice and I shot her a glare.   
  
"Cowboy it is," I said. He smirked. Bastard. But I'd get my revenge, based on whatever fruity costume Jean picked out for him.   
  
Marie smiled at me and it felt like a blow to the head. Or the balls. I shook my head to clear it. Where did *that* come from? God knows the girl smiles -- not often, but often enough around me.   
  
"We're going shopping today."   
  
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. Mall. Twenty-year-old girl. Bad combination. "I'm sure I got a decent flannel shirt, Marie --"   
  
"But you need a hat, and a belt," she said, getting to her feet. "I'll go get ready."   
  
I refused to be dragged into this without taking her down with me. "What'll you be buying?"   
  
"Already bought," she called over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. "It's a surprise."   
  
Figures.   
  
~~~~~~~~   
  
"Pick a damned hat, Marie."   
  
"We have to get the *right* one. Here's two more, try 'em on."   
  
"It's not even your costume!"   
  
She gave me that smile again, pulling me in like a tractor beam. It was pointless to resist, and lately I was beginning to wonder if I even wanted to.   
  
"Just want you to look your best, sugar." That silky tone was nothing new -- she used it whenever she wanted me to buy her something -- but suddenly it was making me feel kinda warm. Not in a July-in-the-Bible-Belt way, but in a . . . giddy way. A fuzzy way. A *Scott Mr. Sensitive Summers* way.   
  
Christ, I had to get out of that mall.   
  
At least it had a tolerable atmosphere. The aroma of leather pervaded our little store and Hank Williams crooned over the speakers. Who'd have thought Salem Centre Mall would actually have a cowboy-themed shop? So far the only other customer had been a young guy, in to buy some tight jeans.   
  
She brought a new hat and dropped it on my poor head. It didn't look any different than the others, but Marie paused, leaning over my shoulder and studying my reflection. "Hmm," she said thoughtfully.   
  
I fidgeted. She was awfully close, and she smelled good. And that was a dangerous train of thought once again.   
  
Both relieving and disappointing me, she pulled away and ordered, "Turn." I sighed and obliged, arms crossed. It had been nearly two hours, cutting into lunchtime, and I was not happy.   
  
"That glower is good," Marie remarked. "Keep that up at the party tonight and everyone'll leave you alone, just like you want."   
  
I looked down at the floor. Her tone had been just a little accusing, and I felt just a little guilty -- though I had no fucking idea *why*.   
  
"Not *everyone* . . ."   
  
She raised an eyebrow, but I refused to elaborate. I was supposed to be immune to these little mind games women played. I was the Wolverine. I worked alone. I needed no female to push and pull my emotions until I didn't know which way was up.   
  
I was also a cowboy, as evidenced by the hat, the belt buckle and the bolero tie. And cowboys didn't need womenfolk either.   
  
All this sudden resentment faded when she smiled and clutched my arm. "We're done. Let's go pay, pardner."   
  
"Thank *God*."   
  
She grinned at me and said, "Ready to go home or something, baby?   
"   
"Or something," I managed to repeat. Lots of people use 'baby' in casual speech -- I did sometimes, but Marie did not. What did her calling me 'baby' mean? Did it mean anything at all? Was it connected to the used of 'sugar' earlier? No, she'd said that before, but had I ever heard her call anyone else 'sugar'?   
  
Shit, what was I doing? Might as well book the Oprah session now, Logan, because you're gonna need someone to straighten this out. And maybe slap you around a little.   
  
~~~~~~~~   
  
Okay, so all told, the cowboy thing wasn't so bad. And really, the girls didn't do it on purpose. But that didn't make it any less embarrassing, and I'm getting ahead of myself.   
  
When I made my way down to Xavier's reception room, I met Scott on the stairs. And at first glance, his costume didn't seem that bad either. I was required to make a joke about it anyway, though, so I said, "You want me to pick up the squad car with the lights on or off, Summers?"   
  
He tugged on the collar of his police uniform and glared. "Shut up, Logan. At least I don't look like I made a killing at Roy Rogers' garage sale.   
  
Before I could retort, I heard the sound of voices behind us. I motioned Scott to be quiet and paused.   
  
"--sure there's no one down here?"   
  
"Everyone's at the party already, Johnny. The girls are gonna yell if you make us any later."   
  
"Why, why, *why* did I agree to this?"   
  
"Because Jubes batted her pretty eyes at you. And because she bought that suede skirt on sale, and we both want to see her in it."   
  
"I'm not coming down. Forget it."   
  
Scott and I shared a smirk. One of the few times we've shared anything. This was turning out to be an interesting day.   
  
The footsteps could be heard now, one pair booted, one pair soft like slippers. When Bobby and St. John appeared around the corner, we were leaning against either wall, waiting.   
  
Johnny immediately turned to flee back upstairs, but I grabbed the kid's (very bare) arm. "Not so fast, Tonto."   
  
"You know attendance is mandatory," Scott said, trying for his teacher voice but having trouble controlling his laughter.   
  
The kid continued looking miserable. I actually felt sorry for him. He was all done up in Indian warrior garb, complete with face paint, feathered headdress and those leather moccasins I'd heard. The icicle was slightly less flashy, dressed as a firefighter. Kind of funny, that.   
  
"It seemed like a good idea when Jubes was putting the warpaint on me," he muttered.   
  
Scott rubbed his chin innocently. "If Johnny is Tonto, wouldn't that make Logan his Lone Ranger?"   
  
Johnny groaned and I snapped, "I ain't his anything, bub. Can we get this damned thing over with already?" We were all ready to head out again, but Bobby suddenly stopped.   
  
"What?" Johnny demanded.   
  
The other kid shook his head, a look of horror slowly overtaking his features. "We . . . don't you see it?"   
  
"What? Spit it out," I said.   
  
"We're the *Village People*!"   
  
I looked around with new eyes. Cop, Indian, firefighter, cowboy . . . fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was a bad sign. I was not going to that party and I said so.   
  
Bobby and Johnny said in unison, "No!"   
  
Now what was this? I turned back towards them. "Why not?"   
  
They backed up a step, avoiding my eyes. "Uh, nothing . . ." Bobby said.   
  
"You just can't make us go in without you. It wouldn't be fair," Johnny protested lamely.   
  
I took a step down. They took two steps down. "What do you boys know?" Easy, Logan. Friendly. Can't tell you anything if you tear their faces apart.   
  
Scott merely stood and watched, enjoying it but ready to step in if necessary.   
  
Bobby rubbed the back of his head. "We don't know anything, Mr. Logan, honest!"   
  
Neither of them had called me Mr. Logan in years. "Better tell me the truth, Iceman." I took another step down and they backed up again. We were getting close to the landing and I could hear the clink of glasses from the party.   
  
Johnny cracked first. "It's just that Rogue --" he said in a wavering voice. Bobby elbowed him hard.   
  
Marie. Of course it was all about Marie. I needed to sit down.   
  
They were confused. They didn't understand the effect this one troublesome girl had on my life. "What is she planning?"   
  
Johnny cracked first, but Bobby cracked best. "She's planning to seduce you after the party." He cringed like a puppy expecting to get hit.   
  
So. The pet names, the shopping, the smiles, the little touches -- they'd meant something after all. And how did I feel about all this?   
  
Well, I was starting to feel good about it. Pretty damned good. But no one needed to know that. I kept my face expressionless and stood up.   
  
"I'd like to get there before the little hot dog things are gone." And with that, I pushed past them, my eyes set on the parlor door.   
  
~~~~~~~~   
  
The plan was to go inside together, because we weren't going to let this little mix-up beat us, and separate at once. I'm pretty sure the women saw us anyway. I headed for the punch bowl, where I made a quick little catalogue. Jean surprised me: she was dressed as a hooker in a tiny blue dress, fishnets, black boots that went on for miles, and handcuffs attached to her belt. Scott was a lucky man, especially tonight. 'Ro, as expected, looked exotic and gorgeous in her Egyptian dress -- but then she always looks exotic and gorgeous. Jubilee, in the previously mentioned suede skirt and matching top (translation: glorified bra), looked like the quintessential Asian Native American princess. Don't ask me, I thought it was a weird costume choice too. Kitty was appropriately dressed in a black catsuit, complete with ears, tail and whiskers. The Professor was dressed as some guy from "Star Trek". Warren, who came down as one of the guests, had his wings. And Remy, that Cajun bastard with his eye on every girl in the house, was dressed as an eighteenth-century nobleman. How he escaped the curse of the Village People, I'll never know. He could've been the construction worker.   
  
And Marie . . . uh, Marie . . . to tell the truth, it took me over five minutes to process her costume.   
  
She'd gone for that classic innocent/sensual archetype, Little Red Riding Hood. The dress was red, looked like vinyl, short and flaring a few bare inches down her thigh. Then legs, legs, legs encased in sheer reddish tights. I would've expected boots, but she wore tiny red pumps, which just gave me more leg to stare at. After my gaze was directed down, it was pulled back up to rest on cleavage. And what a resting place it was, too. A man could lose a finger in there. Pan to her face, done up but not overly slutty, red lips fixed in a perfect pout. The cape was about as long as the dress. Hair loose, curling around her shoulders. Oh yeah, and gloves -- past elbow length, also red, also looked vinyl.   
  
My first thought was 'Damn.' My second thought was '*Damn*.' And my third thought, and all the thoughts thereafter, were of an unprintable sort. They were not friend-to-friend. They were not brother-to-sister. They were not mentor-to-student. And fuck it, I didn't care anymore.   
  
At least I managed to snap my jaw closed before she turned and saw me, but I'm pretty sure my eyes were still bugging out of my head. She smiled, making me feel like I'd just consumed an entire case of Molson. And then I saw them.   
  
Children. She was surrounded by children. All dressed in adorable little costumes, all with sticky mouths and fingers, all bouncing up and down with energy. I could feel it from across the room. This was the type of child who asked "why?" over and over to whatever you said. This was the type of child who could keep a game of shadow going for hours. This was what I would be spending time with for the rest of the night if I wanted to be anywhere near Marie.   
I pulled my hat down over my eyes and sighed, began to make my way over, and that is how I ended up in my current situation.   
  
Marie grabs my hand and pulls me into the little circle of children. "Got kid duty," she explains.   
  
I glance around at the princesses and goblins. "Did you volunteer?"   
  
She just grins and starts to hum. "It's fun to stay at the Y--"   
  
"That's it, I'm out of here."   
  
"No, Logan! Stay and help me, please?" With those eyes and her fingers tightening around mine, I don't really have a choice, so I drop down onto the couch. Next to a pumpkin, a Cinderella and a Cat in the Hat. All three stare at me.   
  
"Hey," I mutter. Cinderella giggles and buries her face in the pumpkin's shoulder.   
  
"This is Mr. Logan," Marie says sunnily.   
  
"Hi, Mr. Logan!" came a chorus of tiny voices.   
  
"And that's Sally, Eric, Mikey, Lana, Jenna, Elizabeth, Harold, Meg, and Peter." She points to each rugrat in turn, but I'm not really paying attention. I want her to come over and sit next to me in a bad way. But the three kids are taking up way too much room. The pumpkin is beginning to spill over into my lap. I shift away, but he doesn't take the hint. Well, he does look only two or so, maybe I should be more direct.   
  
Marie is helping some of the kids with a game of Chutes and Ladders. I can handle this. I pick Mr. Pumpkin up, holding him at arm's length.   
  
"Listen, squirt," I say. He gazes back at me without saying anything. "I'm, uh, not good with kids. Maybe you should go cuddle with the lady." Hell, *I* should cuddle with the lady, really . . .   
  
I realize that Cinderella has scootched over next to me, so there's nowhere for Pumpkin to go but the floor. When I put him down, though, his face scrunches up and his mouth opens wide. I don't know much about kids, but I know that look, so I pick him back and drop him in my lap.   
  
Cindy's watching me with a shrewdness that doesn't belong on someone her age. "Be nice to my little brother," she warns me gravely.   
  
"Of course." I bounce the kid and he laughs, grabbing for the bolero. Why I let Marie talk me into this is beyond me right now.   
  
One of the others comes over, his mouth smeared with chocolate. "Hey, we match!"   
  
Marie glances up. "Well, look at that," she says with a wink at me. Bitch. "Eric and Logan could be brothers."   
  
Eric grabs my hat, getting chocolate all over the brim. "Hey now, kid, that thing was expensive!" I reach for the hat and feel a sudden tightness around my throat.   
  
Cindy grabs the pumpkin, not taking into account the fact that his hands are tangled in my bolero. It's a little hard to breathe now. She pries his fingers loose, scolding him gently.   
  
I lean back and gasp for air. "Thanks . . ."   
  
"Elizabeth," she supplies.   
  
"Elizabeth. I knew that." She giggles again. "So how old are you, Elizabeth?" If Marie is determined to ignore me, I might as well find conversation elsewhere.   
  
"Seven and a quarter."   
  
"Oh yeah? You go to school."   
  
Elizabeth ignores my question and said, "Are you Miss Rogue's boyfriend?" Thankfully Marie is busy taking something plastic out of Eric's nose and doesn't hear.   
  
"Uh, no," I say. Her blue eyes narrow; she doesn't believe me. "Really," I insist.   
  
She gets a sly, purely female look on her face. "I think you wanna be."   
  
I sigh. "Kid, that's way too complicated for you to understand. We've been friends for a long time, and she's -- I can't believe I'm defending myself to a seven-year-old!"   
  
"Seven and a quarter," she corrects me.   
  
"Of course. My apologies." The pumpkin clambers back onto my lap. He's actually kinda cute, blue-eyed like his sister but with brown hair instead of blond. He grins up at me, a little bit of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. "So what's this guy's name?"   
  
"Harold," she says, rolling her eyes. "Don't you listen?"   
  
"No," I reply forthrightly.   
  
Marie, having rescued the Lego man from the dark recesses of Eric's nostril, gets to her feet and comes over. "Don't you guys wanna come play with the others?" She holds out a hand to Elizabeth, but the little girl shakes her head.   
  
"No thank you."   
  
"I bet you'd like some candy, though." She reaches into a little picnic basket I hadn't noticed and pulls out a Tootsie Roll.   
  
"No thank you," Elizabeth repeats politely.   
  
"You don't like chocolate? I have Jolly Ranchers, too-"   
  
Elizabeth shakes her head. "My mommy doesn't like me to have artificial sugars."   
  
Marie and I stare at each other. A kid who doesn't eat candy? The world must be flat.   
  
"You can come sit with us, though," Elizabeth says. Marie looks over her shoulder at the other kids, but they're occupied and relatively quiet, so she starts to sit down. Elizabeth quickly moves over, leaving just enough space between me and her.   
  
I hide a grin. Suddenly I'm liking this kid a lot more.   
  
Marie is grinning, too -- this is her plan, after all, according to my sources. But I'm not supposed to know about it yet, so I feign innocence, pretending that her thigh pressed against mine isn't dredging up all kinds of unhealthy daydreams.   
  
She wipes some drool from Harold's mouth, which requires her to lean all the way across me. Oh yeah, that's more like it. It's all I can do to not let my head drop down into her silky hair. Maybe we should get rid of the kids?   
  
"That's better," she coos at Harold, who gurgles happily. This is a strategic, I can see -- she turns her head and gives me the come-hither eyes before slowly pulling back into her original position.   
  
Well, Marie is not going to be the only player in this game. Casually I take her gloved hand and give it a squeeze. Her head turns sharply, and I can feel her looking at me, though I'm   
not looking back. She's confused. Good. She deserves it.   
  
We sit in silence for a few moments, the four of us. Harold has fallen asleep on my lap and Marie's head has fallen against my shoulder, but Elizabeth is as wise awake as ever. She's watching a rich-looking couple talking to Xavier; I guess they're her parents. With one last smile and shake of his hand, they begin to head toward us. Elizabeth jumps up and runs to her father.   
  
Marie yawns and stretches, on purpose, as she gets up. That sinfully red outfit, the small expanse of bare skin above the neckline and where the gloves don't quite meet the sleeves, her hair, her eyes, her lips, God her lips . . . And I realize that I'm hooked. Permanently, hopelessly, wondrously hooked. She's got me in the palm of her hand and I vow that by the end of the night, I'm going to do something interesting about it.   
  
All this clicking of gears in my head goes unnoticed. She leans down to scoop Harold into her arms, carefully arranging the cape so his cheek is resting against it. I'm awarded with a look down the front of her dress, but she doesn't seem to notice. She seems a little . . . sad. Could she think for some reason that all her scheming had no effect on me? Am I that good?   
  
Just you wait, baby. We're done with the tricks now, time to get down to the treat.   
  
I watch her walk away to give Harold back to his parents. Elizabeth blows me a kiss   
over Daddy's shoulder. Cute kid. She'll have that blend of cultivation and abandon when she goes up, will drive the boys wild.   
  
When Marie gets back, two glasses of champagne in her hand, I take her by the elbow. "Want to get some air?" She nods and leads the way out of the room, heading for the front door and the courtyard, but I nudge her over to the wall.   
  
Confused, she backs up as I take the glasses and put them on a nearby table. Never liked champagne much anyway.   
  
"Got anything to eat in that basket, Hood?" I ask, going on a hunch and searching through it. I know my Marie -- I come up with one pair of superthin gloves in my size and a sheer red scarf.   
  
She smiles slowly and a little guiltily. "Figured it out, huh?"   
  
"Yup." Never mind that her cronies spilled the beans; she doesn't need to know that. I have another question for her, but first things first: using the scarf, I kiss her, long and soft, the kind of kiss that weakens the knees. Marie, being Marie, doesn't collapse in my arms: she kisses me right back.   
  
Oh, how I've waited for that.   
  
When we break and exhale quickly, I ask quietly, "Why tonight? Why Halloween?"   
  
She shrugs, a movement I can feel through my entire body because we're so close. "Because it's the one night of the year when you can be what you're not."   
  
"And this," I say, running my hands down her body, making her tremble, "is what you're not?" I don't mean the costume and she knows it.   
  
"Not yet," she replies with a little twist of her mouth. "That's where you come in."   
  
"I see." I kiss her again to emphasize my point. "So, trick or treat, baby?"   
  
"Both, sugar."   
  
"Just don't mention the Village People *ever* again and we got a deal."   
  
  
  
Additional Note: "Convalescence" is coming along. Slowly.


End file.
